Here is a clinking. An emptying. An undone coming. This energy of mine alone is a closed door.Such smoothness, out of my body something breathes into unreliable space. The cold, it bites atthe stomach. I swallow the mess of me somehow. Sangrine-soaked and pulp. Two hands againstthis door. Two hands carving into.

Marrow of bone break against me. It is something empty I have swallowed. I am coursing vein. Iam an avenue of flat breathing, glassed and shallow. This door is a tidal flat, neither terrestrialnor aquatic. And what is the color of ice. Of smoke. I let blood. Fashion new constellations.Make a feral dog from a modicum of luminous spheres. I feed it hard metal. I let the thing of mecontinue to bite.

Danielle Susi is the author of the chapbook The Month in Which We Are Born (dancing girl press, 2015). Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Knee-Jerk Magazine, Hobart, and The Rumpus, among many other publications. She is a columnist for pioneertown and Entropy; a contributor to American Microreviews & Interviews, The Conversant, and The Angle; and the co-editor of HOUND. She received her MFA in writing from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago and Newcity has named her among the Top 5 Emerging Chicago Poets. Find her online at daniellesusi.com.

Kristin Fouquet photographs and writes from lovely New Orleans. Her photography has been widely published in both online journals and in print: magazines, chapbook and book covers, and CDs. Her preferences are fine art photography, street photography, and the occasional portrait. Visit her virtual abode at the web address http://kristin.fouquet.cc